Sum of Ourselves
by anna2
Summary: We are now and will ever be the sum of our pasts, our present and our hopes for the future.


Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me, as I am not CBS, Jerry Bruckheimer or Atlantis Alliance.

Title:

Rating: T, due to one bad word.

Summary: We are and will ever be the sum of our pasts, our present and our hopes for the future. A long overdue conversation.

Notes: I'm breaking format and including dialogue here, something I've never done before. This can be considered follow up to both _Insomnia_ and _Center of the Universe_. I've gotten the impression that New York CSI's are cops who go on to specialize in forensics and I decided to run with that. I got the line about cursing from **KristenElizabeth **and her fic, _Fate of Daisies_You can find her in my favorites. Let me know what you think. It is my wonderful reviews that keep me going, especially **NotesOfWhimsey** and **RainbowStevie**. And as per usual, if you can't figure out who the characters are then you don't watch the show enough to be reading the fic.

It was entirely possible he was going to get smacked in the head. But caution had never been a part of his nature and so once more he cast it to the wind.

"Why didn't you ever say anything?"

The question wasn't unreasonable. She knew quite a few of his demons and yet she'd never shared hers. Even for their strange relationship, that was odd. They'd spent months eyeing each other warily, trying to outdo the other, arguing over everything one minute, flirting the next. The arguments had tapered off after Mac assigned them to share an office, but everything else has remained the same. Their co-workers ignored it for the most part. Occasionally Mac would decide they were on the unprofessional side of competitive and keep them on separate cases for a few weeks, but the other than that the status quo remained.

She took a deep breath. "I thought it was finally behind me. I didn't want think about it again. I was finally functioning and didn't want to screw it up. I was afraid I'd get taken off the job if anyone found out the panic attacks I used to have. Take your pick."

He was silent for a long moment. He knew there'd been some demon in her past, something she was running from. He'd just had no idea what. And while one part of him wanted to throw a fit that she hadn't trusted him enough to confide in him, a smaller yet more mature part said he hadn't quite earned that right yet. And so he'd bided his time until she had to talk without him being the one to force it. Or at least so he didn't appear to be forcing it. "Will you tell me about it now?"

The silence stretched between for what seemed to be an eternity to both.

"It was my junior year of college, right after Spring Break. I had a house off-campus with four other girls. We'd been roommates since freshman year. They were my first real friends." She stopped, taking a moment to form words that hadn't been spoken in nearly a decade. "Boys are important where I come from. I have two older brothers and my father didn't know how to deal with a girl. My mother couldn't understand a tomboy."

His brow furrowed in confusion at the sudden turn she'd taken but stayed quiet.

"I grew up caught between two worlds, not belonging to either. My brothers are 8 and 10 years older than me. I was a- a surprise so to speak. My mother was thrilled to get a girl and horrified when I preferred to ride horses and play in the mud, rather than take ballet or learn to cook. I thought the sun rose and set on my father. From the time I could toddle, I followed him everywhere. He could do no wrong in my eyes. That kind of hero worship is intoxicating. How can a parent resist? But he had no clue what to do with a girl. So he treated me like a boy. I rode horses, herded cattle, went on round up, all the things that men do with their sons. For my first nine years, my dad and my brothers and the ranch were my entire world. I don't remember a time when I didn't know how to ride, didn't know the difference between a cow and bull, didn't think spring branding was more fun than Christmas."

"What happened?"

She smiled sadly. "The same thing that knocks every tomboy sideways. Puberty. All of a sudden the girls in my class were obsessed with bras and make-up and boys. And I'd spent so much of my time apart from that world that I didn't know anything about it. I couldn't relate to them. And boys I hung around with weren't any better. Suddenly I was girl in their eyes but an inadequate one. It's okay to be a tomboy at 9. At 11, it's not okay. I didn't fit in anywhere. And once I started _looking_ like an adolescent, my dad didn't know what to do with me either. Girls aren't supposed to be ranch hands. The way he was raised, I couldn't keep doing what I had been. It wasn't 'appropriate for a girl', according to him. We're supposed to be cheerleaders and homemakers. Graduate high school and start raising kids and cows. There was a line between us that hadn't been there before. I didn't fit in anywhere, not with the boys or the girls. My father couldn't seem understand me any more and my mother never had. She'd wanted a girly-girl and got me instead. She didn't know how to relate to a girl who refused to wear a dress anywhere but church and seemed to be allergic to the kitchen. She and I have never been close. I rejected her before I could understand the concept and she's been doing it right back ever since. All I had left was school and I threw myself into that. Got an academic scholarship to the state university and took off as soon as I could." She let out a cold chuckle. "'Girls don't go to college. Finish school and get married.' That's what Dad said. We haven't had a meaningful conversation since I left for school."

"Not even after-?" He couldn't comprehend it. "Families support you no matter what."

"College was like being let out of prison. For the first time in my life I didn't get looked at cross-eyed for preferring books to clothes. There were other girls who studied just as hard as I did. And guys that liked brainy tomboys. I could be _me_ and I wasn't completely inadequate. All freshman had to live on campus and my suitemates became my sisters. The five of us did almost everything together. They understood me in a way that no one ever had. I miss them so much." Tears were threatening to leak out and she willed them back. If she started crying now, she'd never finish the story and she had to finish the tale. "I never lived at home again after I started college. I wrote home every week and called once a month. I'd visit at the holidays and count the minutes until I could leave. I was free."

"You were happy."

"I used to be. I was going to be a vet. I've always like animals. They're easy to understand and they love you unconditionally. Our dog, Trigger, used to sleep at the foot of my bed. I could never fall asleep until he was there." She took a deep breath, trying to slow her racing pulse. She hadn't had a panic attack in years and there was no way in hell going to break that streak now. "Animals lash out for a reason. For food, for defense, for a mate. They don't bite for the hell of it."

The words came slowly, in drips and drabs. But they came. Not since she'd given her statement to the police ten years had ago has this story been told in its entirety. It took a few minutes to string the words together.

"I had an evening lab on Thursdays and we lived close enough for me to come home for dinner before it started. For a moment I thought we'd lost power because we always left the light on for the last one in. Just as I reached for the light switch, I felt cold metal pressed against the back of my head. He said 'don't make a sound or I'll pull the trigger.' I could hardly breathe, let alone speak or scream. I still had my coat on but I'd set my bag down. All I could think was that I was going to be late for my Canine Anatomy lab." She felt a pain in her hands. Looking down, she was startled to see her nails digging into her palms so hard she drew blood. She deliberately uncurled her fists. "I stood you up that night because I was putting on my shoes when the phone rang. The DA told me that they had a suspect in custody. He'd been picked up in Colorado on a DUI and they ran him through CODIS. I managed not to start puking until I'd hung up. By the time I got myself together, two hours had passed and the ice queen was dead."

"I'm sorry for being a bastard. If I'd known-"

"You couldn't have known. As far as being a bastard goes, well, let's just say you didn't even register on my radar screen." She paused for a moment. "He pushed me into the kitchen and told me not to move or he'd kill me. I remember the way his hand dug into my arm, the way the leather of his gloves stuck to my skin." She touched a spot just below her left elbow. "The others were in there, tied up and gagged on the floor. Kate's hair was wet, because she'd just gotten out the shower. They were so scared. It so quiet in there, just harsh breathing. Celia had asthma. She was turning blue because she needed her inhaler. He was tying my hands when I-I don't know why but I elbowed him in the gut as hard as I could. I kept thinking that I needed to get the gag off Celia so she could use her inhaler. It must have been a lucky shot because he let go of my wrists. I was trying to free Celia when I heard the shot. He'd killed Kate and by the time I turned around he'd shot Stephanie in the head. And then Beth. He was smiling. I didn't know then that smiling could make you ugly. There was so much blood. Beth had fallen against me and she was bleeding out in my lap. He got her left upper chest. She coughing and choking, trying so hard to breathe. And for this horrible moment I was torn: did I try to help her or Celia? Then he grabbed me by my hair and said 'I told you not to move.' The gun was a 9-millimeter and he had it by my head, where I could see the barrel. Celia was right in front of me and she was so terribly blue by then. But she was still conscious. I remember thinking later that I'd never heard her scream so loudly but it wasn't her. I'd never gotten the gag off her mouth. I was the one screaming. He asked which one of us he should kill next. He was laughing when he said it. And then he shot Celia, point blank in the head. She was so scared. I could see it in her eyes, how terrified she was. I held eye contact with until she died. She'd just gotten engaged two day earlier. Beth was supposed to be her Maid of Honor." She quit fighting the tears, figuring that she'd just have a stroke if she held them in. "He turned the gun at me, right in my face and pulled the trigger. And then everything went black."

A wave of nausea washed over him, something he hadn't felt since a night long ago at Giants Stadium. As his brain tried to sort out what he'd just been told, her voice rose again.

"I think I came to a little bit as the paramedics arrived. I have memories seeing the blood being spread around by their boots. The whole kitchen was running red. So much blood. I was covered in it and Rescue thought I was DOA as well. I must have moved or made a sound or something because I suddenly surrounded by motion and noise. I don't really remember much after that until I woke up again in the hospital. He'd apparently run out of bullets and clubbed me with the gun butt. The neighbors had heard the shots and called for help. The police said later that the sirens probably scared him off before he could- before I died. I woke up in the ER with nothing worse than a concussion, a ton of bruises and ringing ears from the gunshots. That's why the other parents hate me. I should have been badly hurt if I was the only survivor. I should have been shot too. If I hadn't fought back-"

"Don't say that! You're a cop. You know the statistics of getting out alive once you're restrained."

"I know that now. But they don't. They all share the opinion that I if hadn't tried to fight, then he wouldn't have pulled the gun. They wouldn't even let me attend the funerals. I wish they had. I never got to say goodbye." The last sentence was a whisper of pure anguish. Then her face hardened as she forced the emotion away.

She had her arms wrapped around herself, trying to ward off the chill of memories. He reached out to unwind them. "You're going break your ribs. Try and relax just little all right?" She very studiously did not notice that he continued to hold her hand. "Keep going. Get it all out."

"The CSI's who came to process me were so kind. I remember them carefully explaining exactly what they were doing and why. They went over what they'd be looking for in the house and how it would help catch this guy. I didn't really care because I was never going back there. I stayed in the hospital overnight and the school managed to free up a single room for me to use the rest of the semester. I went back to class a week later. Once the scene was released, a couple of the football players got my stuff for me. Not all college athletes are assholes. They were really nice. The entire offensive line spent the next three months teaching me how to play football, just to distract me."

"So that's why you're a fan." His arm was now around her shoulders and it took everything she had not to lean in. But she'd learned along time ago that her burdens had to be borne alone.

"My mother came down, but I wouldn't go home. She still doesn't understand. None of them do. But the ranch wasn't home anymore. It hadn't been since the day Dad told me I couldn't go on round up anymore, that it wasn't right for girl. College had been home since I got there and I couldn't leave it. It seemed like the whole campus was in mourning the next year. Nothing like this had ever happened there before. Or since for that matter. And all these people that I barely knew rallied around me like you wouldn't believe."

"I'd believe it." Memories of a comatose brother and an unending stream of support outside a hospital room floated to the surface. "People have an amazing capacity for kindness."

"I stayed on campus senior year and never ate a meal alone. There were always people to walk me back from the library when it was late. When I switched majors from animal biology to general biology, there were classmates in every lab and lecture willing to tutor me and catch me up. Between an insane course load and summer school, I managed to graduate only one semester late. The workload was a godsend. I didn't have to think about anything but school. And if I didn't have to think about it, then I didn't have to worry that the guy hadn't been caught. I didn't have to think about the fact that my sisters were gone. That their families blamed me for living when their daughters died. That even though I had people around me, I hadn't been this lonely since I was 13. I pushed it all away and tried to forget."

"That don't usually work."

"Yeah." She took a deep breath to dispel the tension. She was past the worst of it now. "And that's why I became a CSI. A little bit because I thought that I'd be safer in law enforcement and I was too fascinated by science to be a beat cop. But mostly, because I thought that if I solved other crimes, I could one day understand why this happened to my sisters. That was the worst part. I could not then and still don't now understand _why_. I know the how, the when, the what, the where and now I know the whom. His name is Kenneth Mitchell, a drifter with a long history of petty thieving, drunkenness and escalating violence. He'd been at it for years but never managed to get himself run through CODIS until four and half months ago. He broke a back window to get in. His 9-millimeter semi-automatic was loaded with only four bullets. Beth was cooking dinner when he grabbed her from behind and she died because she was shot in her left lung, causing her to bleed out in minutes. Kate stepped out of the shower and twenty minutes later was dead because a bullet pulverized her heart. Stephanie was listing to her headphones while she worked on a paper and didn't hear anything until Kate screamed. She died from a through-and-through to the neck and bled out like Beth. Celia was getting ready to meet her fiancé that night and was shot point blank the right temporal lobe. I came home between labs to get some dinner, only to be pistol-whipped until I lost consciousness and left for dead. There was no sign of robbery. None of us were sexually assaulted. We'd never met him, never had contact with him. He apparently picked our house at random. Each piece makes sense: who he is, how he got in, the timeline of events inside, how each of my friends died, the injuries I sustained. Every case I've worked, those pieces of information add up. You can lay out the evidence and understand what happened. But I can't do that, not with this. I still cannot comprehend why he picked us, why they died, why I lived. He's not talking. He just sits there with this nasty grin on his face while the DA and the detectives question him and he doesn't say one word. And they know it's him. He cut himself on that broken window and they found his blood inside the house. He still has the gun he used and the bullets were matched. I picked him out of a photo array and I picked him out again in a line up. He's going to be convicted and he's going to get the death penalty. And he still won't talk. It's a game to him."

He swore then, loudly and creatively. She'd heard it said once that New Yorkers may not have invented the concept of cursing but they did it better than anyone. She'd never know he had such a filthy mouth. "Remind me to take you church with me some time. I'll get Father D'Lazzi to tell you all about the eternity of Hell that awaits that piece of shit."

"I thought you said your church has the one priest in Manhattan that doesn't specialize in guilt and eternal damnation."

"For something like this, he'll make an exception." They both fell silent again, the levity gone in an instant. "Does it help at all to know they got him?"

She looked down at her hands. The crescent shaped welts had stopped bleeding. "Logic says that after the trial I should be able achieve 'closure'. No more looking over my shoulder and faking strength I don't feel."

A gentle hand against her face stopped her. "I didn't ask about logic. I asked about you ."

The facade crumbled again. "I don't know. I don't know and I've spent the better part of a decade trying to figure it out. I thought this was all behind me, for good, when I came here. Moving to New York was even better than when I left for college. My past stopped hanging over my head. But you can't outrun your past can you?"

"No. We are and will ever be the sum of our pasts, our present and our hopes for the future. It's makes us who we are."

"But how do you live it?" She was energized now, on her feet and pacing back and forth. Anger was building in her that she hadn't felt in years, that she hadn't allowed herself to feel for fear of what it would do to her. "I can't get away from it. The damn thing followed me 2,000 miles!"

"You don't get free from your past. You either make peace with it or let it eat you up. But you're fooling yourself if you think it ever leaves you for good." His hands were on her shoulders now, forcing her to slow and face him. "I know what it's like to be in that hole, down so deep you think you won't ever get out." He stopped then, memories threatening to overtake him. "The whole world is crashing around you. Everything is in pieces but you are the one who gets to fit them back together."

She bowed her head. She hadn't meant to bring his demons back to the surface. "How did you do it? After everything last spring?"

He let out a ragged breath and sagged back down again. "I haven't. After my brother, after Aiden-," the words stuck in his throat and he spit them out lest they'd never come. "My folks don't understand why I never say his name. Stella keeps after me to go to the cemetery with her. And I won't do any of it. It's easier not to. I hit my limit. And that's the worst part of all because human decency says we're not supposed to have these kinds of limits."

"Human decency is overrated." She sat down next to him, very much aware of the fact their personal space was overlapping, a clear violation of their unspoken agreement. "I tried therapy for awhile. After I started the academy, the first day on the range. I heard the shots and blacked out. After I woke up, they told me I'd had a panic attack. The shots triggered a year and half of repressed emotions. And I'm not going to tell you what I thought of that, because it's really sick."

"Sicker than eating a deep fried tarantula?"

"Better a fried spider than a live mealworm." She weighted her words for a second. "I was relieved. I was actually glad to have something tangible to work on with the therapist. Because learning to deal with a panic attack has a finite outcome. You can either do it or you can't. Which meant I didn't have to deal with the whole thing, just the panic attacks. It was great. And I did it. I could be around guns with no problem. And the day we started working on splatter pattern analysis the attacks started again. And again with restraint training. And when we started working with mock-up scenes. Every time I'd get past the newest trigger and I would tell myself that defeating each trigger meant I was getting better."

"I'm guessing that didn't work out too well."

"It got me through my training and onto the job. I haven't had an attack in six years. Once I started working, I buried myself in it and I don't think I surfaced until I came to Manhattan. That was always my goal, to come to New York. I knew had to work my way in to it, that the lab where I trained was nowhere near the caliber of what I needed. I've been to every seminar west of Chicago, taken every online and correspondence course I could. The Vegas lab actually tried to recruit me."

"And you turned them down? The second best lab in the country and you came to New York instead? Are you nuts? That's the one place I'd ever consider leaving for."

"Vegas was too close to home. Hell, it's the same time zone." She stopped for a second. "You've actually considered leaving New York? I thought you were allergic to the mere thought."

"Don't change the subject."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. One of the Vegas CSI's helped process the scene. She's an expert in blood pattern analysis. They called her in for help because not one of the locals had any experience with scenes like that one. I didn't go to Vegas because I'd have to work with her and I didn't want risk my past getting out. She the worst damn gossip I ever met."

"I don't think I've ever heard you cuss before."

"You haven't been around when I've been trying to get samples through the GCMS. That machine hates me."

"It hates everybody. Chad is the only one with the magic touch. Make nice to him and you'll never have to struggle with it again."

"I'd hate to think of how you made nice with him."

"I didn't. Aiden would flirt and-" He stopped suddenly. He'd said her name casually, as if she was still here. He hadn't done that yet. Not since the day she'd died and to do that he'd been quite wasted, trashed on cheap beer and quality tequila.

"You miss her very much, don't you?"

"She was the little sister I never had, you know? She was the toughest cop I ever met and I still felt like threatening any guy that looked at her like she was a girl. Crazy, huh?"

"No. My brothers are the same way. According to them, your little sister is there to drive you nuts: first as a pest that won't go away and later as treasure to be protected at all costs. Almost any cost."

She hadn't spoken to her brothers since she'd moved to New York. She sent Christmas gifts and received pre-printed cards. Neither Seth nor Joe could accept that she worked in what they perceived to be a man's world, and that she hadn't done as her father said and moved back home. Her mother was her only point of contact to her old life, and that was a tenuous thread at best.

"You don't talk to them anymore do you?"

"Every time I call, they're not there. Doesn't matter what time, they're always 'out in the barn' or 'checking the herd'. Same with Dad. So I don't call as much anymore. We don't have anything left to say. I'm not sure they even know I'm here."

He cursed again, worse than before. "You mean you were going to go through this alone?"

"And how was I supposed to change that?" Her temper flared, quick and hot. "Drag my family here at gunpoint? Believe me, having them around won't help. I'll tell you what will happen: My mother will immediately start in on how I'm too thin and how do I expect to catch a husband if I don't take care of my appearance, along with the fact I haven't produced grandchildren for her yet. _If_ my father were to come, he'd say nothing except that my life doesn't sound like much and I need to move home and help my mother. My brothers will toe the party line. They want me home to ensure their meals get cooked, their clothes get washed and the house stays clean. My mother is getting older and Joe's wife doesn't get along with her that well. They don't want me home because they miss me or they love me. I'm supposed to be the housekeeper for my parents when the time comes. So you tell me, what's having them here's going to accomplish?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't know." The family she'd described was so alien from his own that he couldn't quite wrap his head around it.

"No I'm sorry." The fit of temper passed as quickly as it came. "How were you supposed to know how fucked up my family is? What's yours like?"

The sudden topic change took him by surprise. "Just a typical family I guess."

"There is no such thing as a typical family. Come on, I know about your brother but nothing else."

"I'm the youngest of three. I have an older sister as well. She lives in Brooklyn now, raising her kids. She's got a boy and girl and they're thinking about a third. My folks are still on Staten Island, in the house I grew up in. Dad inherited it from his family. He ran a deli and Mom was a teacher. They're both retired." He didn't mention his brother. The wound was still too painful. "We all have dinner a couple of times a month, to stay in touch."

"What was it like growing up in the city?"

He smiled at that question. "I wouldn't raise my kids anywhere else. What the tourists don't seem to understand is that New York isn't just some huge, faceless city. It's a bunch of small neighborhoods where everybody knows everybody. You couldn't get away with anything on my block. The neighbors would rat you out in a heartbeat and my parents would do the same for their kids. At least where I grew up, you could send your kids out to play knowing they were supervised. The older ones looked out for the younger ones without question. It's what you did. You gotta remember, my neighborhood was mainly first and second-generation immigrants. My grandparents, they all came in through Ellis Island. A lot of 'Old Country' traditions still exist. Like how children are supposed to do better than their parents. None of my grandparents graduated from high school. They all had to go to work by the time they were 14 or 15. My folks didn't go to college. All three of us were expected to make something of ourselves."

"You obviously didn't do too bad. Are they proud of you?"

"Dad never quits bragging. And my sister's kids think having a cop for an uncle is the greatest thing ever. It ain't going to last past puberty but I'll enjoy the hero worship while I can."

"What about your mother?"

"A lot like yours actually. Always after me to find a nice girl and start having kids. When she isn't shoving pasta down my throat or nagging me about going to Mass more often." What would have sounded bitter coming from her, sounded loving and nostalgic from him. "I remember she insisted that my brother and I learn to cook and do laundry and clean the house, the same as she and my sister did. Said she wasn't going to send her sons out into the world unable to look after themselves. She had a theory it'd make us better husbands or something."

"I wish my mother had done that for Joe and Seth. They can't do anything for themselves in the house. Seth still lives at home and Mom does everything for him." She let out a bitter laugh. "I hate that. It's such a stereotypical hick thing that women take care of the house and men can't fend for themselves. We look like such rednecks."

"You ain't a redneck."

"You didn't know me growing up. My worst temper tantrums were over having to wear a dress. I would very grudgingly put one on for church but not anyplace else. I lived in my jeans. I was happiest when I was filthy and exhausted, having spent the entire day outside in the mud and heat. Some days Mom could barely get me out of the barn to go to bed. I'd stay out there till late, brushing the horses and cleaning tack. More than once I'd sneak out after I was supposed to be asleep. I terrified them all when I was seven. I'd snuck out and fell asleep in the hayloft. It took them hours to find me. That was probably the worst trouble I ever got into. Got spanked and everything."

"When I was eleven, my mother let me ride the train to school for the first time by myself. I'd always taken the bus before but all my classmates were starting to take the subway by themselves. Our version of getting your drivers license. I'd been begging and pleading all summer before sixth grade to ride with my buddies. Ma kept saying no, but Dad finally convinced her to let me. The first day of school, off I go. I met up with my pals and we got it into our heads to go into Manhattan instead, do a little sightseeing or something. What I didn't know was that my mother got so nervous she called the school to make sure I got there. That was only time I ever got smacked, was when I came home that afternoon. They'd been frantic since that morning and the police wouldn't take a missing persons until I'd been gone 24 hours. Between the belt and the lectures from Ma, Dad and all four grandparents, I'd never been so ashamed of myself. Catholic mothers are the absolute best at making you feel guiltier than you ever thought you could. I couldn't look my mother in face until sometime around Christmas that year."

"Sounds like you learned your lesson."

"I never tried to put one over on Ma again, that's for sure. I even called her to let her know I was coming out here, just so I can't get nailed for it later."

That was as close as they'd come to mentioning who might know he was here. Which was a sticky topic in and of itself, one that would eventually have to be addressed (because she wanted to know what rumors would be flying when she got back to work) but that right now she was putting off for as long as possible. To deflect one truth, she admitted another. "My parents know I'm here." That was the most painful part.

"They do know?" His voice was deceptively calm, the same tone he used right before scaring the crap out of suspect. "And they ain't here with you?"

She shook her head. "They can't get away from the ranch. Cattle ranchers work 25 hours a day, 8 days a week."

"Bull. Your mom could have been here. You said yourself she don't work on the ranch the way your Dad does." He was pacing again, angier than she'd seen him before. "That's what families are for. They don't abandon you for being who you are. It ain't right." His accent was growing thicker as he grew more agitated. "Families don't act like this. You don't do this, not ever."

"There's not a whole hell of a lot I can do about it. It's what it is. Families are a crapshoot. They can start great and stay great, they can start great and go to hell, they can just plain be hell. Some people don't get them at all. So I'm going to get through this damn trial and go back to New York. And god help the next person that tries to make me leave." She was aware that she looked like a sulking toddler as she crossed her arms sullenly. "At least I can breath there."

He sat down beside, just close enough to invade her personal space without touching her. She could almost feel the chemistry crackling between them. "Is that enough?"

"It has to be." She was tired suddenly, drained by the intense emotions. "You asked if having him locked up would help. I think it will. I'll stop looking over my shoulder at any rate. I won't have to think about it anymore. I don't even care if he gets the needle. I don't think I could take all the appeals and possible retrials anyway. I want this over, one way or the other and I want to go home."

"Really?"

She turned to look at him. Something in his voice just now- "I want to cuddle my cat. I want to holler at those damn cab drivers that can't stay in their lane. I want to curse at the GCMS and wonder just how Sid's going to get to the creepy place today. I want to hear sirens screaming at 3 in the morning and I want to know I can have a cheeseburger delivered to my door cause the damn sirens woke me up. I want to smell the curry that invades my apartment from the restaurant downstairs and I want to know I can see what ever movie I want, whenever I want. I'd kill for a multiplex right now!" She laughed, for real this time. "It's too damn quiet here! I want to finish this, go back the city and move on with my life. Whatever that turns out to be. Maybe you're right, I'll always carry this with me. Maybe I'll put it all behind me and it'll fade in my mind someday. But it's time to try and move on, for real. No more of this 'I'm okay if I close out the world crap'. The walls are coming down." Even as she said the words, she knew it'd never happen, not all of it. "And I'm going to let my family go. I know they love me in their way and I love them in mine. But we'll never see eye-to-eye and we're all probably happier this way. Even if that does offend your delicate sensibilities."

"So you're all better now? Cause I gotta say, I have a hard time believing that. Not that I doubt your self healing abilities or anything but-"

"Shut up and leave me to my delusions please. They've been repressed for the better part of a decade."

"No doubt contributing to the fine picture of mental health that you are today. Why didn't you say that was your secret?"

She was laughing too hard to smack him


End file.
